


Don't Be A Fool For the City Nights

by littlemissmandy3



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Probably ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4922986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissmandy3/pseuds/littlemissmandy3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>' “You do deserve this opportunity,” Clarke replied softly, blinking back the heavy tears which welled in her eyes. She wasn’t going to make him feel any worse about this than he clearly already did, and especially not by doing something stupid like crying, “You deserve it more than anyone I’ve ever met.” '</p><p>It's Clarke's turn to let Bellamy go, but is it really worth him leaving?<br/>-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br/>Just a little fic inspired by my recent attempts at making pancakes, and the song "Headlights". It makes sense if you read it, I promise!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You know Princess, I swear I’ve seen that t-shirt somewhere before.” Clarke felt his breath tickling her ear moments before a familiar pair of muscular arms wrapped around her from behind; almost making her knock the bowl of pancake batter off the kitchen counter.

“I hope you have, it is yours after all!” She grinned teasingly, righting the bowl of batter and turning to face him. “I hope that isn't too much of an issue…” She trailed off, chuckling at him.

She bit her lip as she realised just how much of a habit borrowing his shirt had become. When he stayed the night, he would inevitably end up shirtless in bed. She had quickly figured out that if she found and wore said shirt, he was forced to stay that way- although she drew the line at wearing his boxer shorts too.

 “No, it suits you,” Bellamy brushed his lips against hers briefly before continuing, “As long as you don’t turn the heating off, I don't fancy freezing to death just so you can continue to ogle me.” He glanced over her head and fully registered what she was doing for the first time, “Although there is one slight problem…”

Clarke glanced up at him, alarm showing on her face. “What? What is it? Did I-”

He cut her off suddenly, “You’re cooking. Breakfast at that!”

“Why exactly is that a ‘slight problem’?” She scowled at him, holding back a laugh.

He raised one eyebrow challengingly, “Is your memory so poor that you’ve forgotten what happened last time you tried to make us breakfast? It will forever be a mystery as to how you managed to get flour there…” He laughed, reminiscing about the incident. “What exactly did we name it again?”

Clarke deepened her scowl and muttered something under her breath.

“Sorry, what was that?” he challenged through a chuckle.

“The Great Kitchen Disaster!” She growled at him through her laughter.

Clarke had given in and was now in fits of giggles. “To be fair though, I was distracted by…” She thought hard, “You actually. You and your shirtless appeal!”

“Well I’m not denying that!” He half-joked, grinning as she shoved him gently in the chest. “But there’s still a very good reason why I do all the cooking.”

 “Yes… because it soothes your fragile ego if I let you believe that you’re the next MasterChef!” She laughed at the low blow, resting her head against him.

“Oh fine then, just remind me never to make you my- what did you refer to it as? Wasn't it my ‘fucking incredible’ mac n’ cheese? - ever again!” Bellamy twirled a strand of her blonde hair around his fingers absentmindedly, waiting for her inevitable surrender.

Clarke stretched up to kiss his jawline, “Fine. You make the damn pancakes, but don’t complain next time I drag you out of bed to make me waffles at 6am,” She placed a second kiss on his cheek before stepping away, “Oh, and you owe me.”

He gave her a faint look of disbelief, “I owe you? I believe _I’m_ the one doing the cooking here, so _you_ owe _me_!” He picked up the whisk and cautiously stirred the mixture, checking for the stray eggshells and the like that often ended up in Clarke’s cooking.

Once reasonably confident that it was all clear, he set to work aerating the batter, unable to resist the temptation to dab a little on her nose as he did so. He laughed at her bleat of protest, “Anyway, are you working tonight? I try and keep track but honestly; you may as well set up home at the hospital!”

She laughed, “I’m actually free for once. Apparently they’ve remembered  that there’s only a certain number of hours it’s legal for a junior doctor to work; so they’ve given me tonight off to try and cover their asses. Why?”

He gave a slightly strained smile, “I was thinking that we could go out for dinner,”

He hoped that she hadn't noticed the way that his tone had swooped from jovial to verging on solemn very quickly as he’d mulled over what he was going to have to tell her later that night. He knew that it really wasn’t going to be the fun date night she was likely expecting.

Clarke cocked her head slightly and regarded him with curious eyes, “Sure, let’s eat out! Did you have anywhere particular in mind? There’s that gorgeous new restaurant in town.”


	2. Chapter 2

As she rounded the corner and Grounders came into view, Clarke gave a small sigh of relief. Ever since she’d left the flat she had been paranoid about being somewhat overdressed, but upon sighting the extravagant exterior, she calmed down considerably.  
She had gone for an outfit in her usual simplistic style: a slim- fitting black dress with a white collar. However, for someone who usually cared little for the fickleness of fashion, she’d put a considerable amount of effort into straightening her hair and applying make-up. She’d even done her nails (at Raven’s behest) and the temptation to pick at the thin layer of paint which coated them was practically unbearable.  
Punctual as always, Bellamy was waiting just inside of the doorway. As she approached, she became aware that he appeared uncharacteristically nervous; tugging at the collar of his shirt and shifting his weight from foot to foot. However, upon sighting her, his eyes lit up and a fragment of his usual confidence was restored. “I’d tell you that look gorgeous, but then you always do.” He greeted her with a warm smile before moving in to kiss her gently on the cheek.  
“The same goes for you,” She grinned as he took her arm and lead her inside. Even nearly six months into the relationship, it only took the slightest touch to give her butterflies- as clichéd as it may have been, that was the only way to describe it.  
Clarke smiled at the enthusiastic teenager who greeted them, hoping that she would be their waitress for the evening. But there was no such luck. The girl beckoned awkwardly to an odd-looking waiter, who began to make his way over to them; Clarke had to smother a giggle as she caught Bellamy’s sideways glance at her.  
As the waiter escorted them to their table, the couple continued to share mock-worried eyebrow raises. The man was disturbingly sycophantic, and she could almost imagine that he was secretly plotting to murder them. Once he left them alone with their menus, she let out a breath of air she hadn't realised she was holding. “Well, he was mildly terrifying,” She commented dryly.  
Bellamy looked up from the table, “Sorry, what did you say?” He asked. He seemed to be avoiding her eye and it was almost as if he was unable to look her in the face.  
Her brow creased in concern as she regarded him. “Are you okay Bell?” She inquired, using her most familiar nickname for him. Mentally, she began to run through a range of potential problems and settled upon the most likely, “Busy day at work?”  
He grimaced, avoiding her gaze. “I…” He trailed off. It was entirely out of character for Bellamy Blake to be lost for words; he could normally coax conversation from the most recalcitrant of people. Clearly something was seriously amiss.  
She bit her lip, wondering vaguely if she’d done something wrong. She found herself relieved when he continued to speak, “Um… I’ve got something - I couldn’t do it over the phone, so I decided to drag you out here. I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.”  
“What is it?” She choked out, her stomach tight. Embarrassingly, there was already a knot forming at the base of her throat, while her mind raced, formulating all sorts of scenarios. Was he leaving her? Was he gay? Had he met somebody else? Oh god, had he got someone pregnant? Maybe he was dying, or a werewolf?  
He silenced her rambling thoughts quickly and simply. “I’ve been offered a new job.”  
Clarke looked at him blankly, confusion evident in her expression, “So?”  
He gave a small sigh, before he continued talking. “It’s a wonderful opportunity - an apprenticeship essentially, right under the CEO. At ARK Headquarters.” His voice cracked and he broke off, betraying that there was something- a lot- more to this than it first appeared.  
She grinned at him broadly. “That’s fantastic news! ARK Headquarters! Oh...” The smile on her face dropped off as the obvious hit her, and she almost flinched, “Tha-that’s in London, isn't it?”  
“Clarke…” He leaned across the table slightly, his voice a plaintive cry. She didn’t want him to finish the sentence.  
“Have you told Octavia?” She cut across him; trying to keep her face unreadable as she tried to steer the conversation towards something –anything- other than the implications of his move for their relationship.  
“Yes,” He sighed in an attempt to collect himself somewhat, “She was- she was pleased for me, said that I deserved this opportunity. I’ll be out there for about a year, but it could be longer if he likes me.”  
“You do deserve this opportunity,” Clarke replied softly, blinking back the heavy tears which welled in her eyes. She wasn’t going to make him feel any worse about this than he clearly already did, and especially not by doing something stupid like crying, “You deserve it more than anyone I’ve ever met.”  
She was alluding to his difficult childhood, of course, but also to the fact that Bellamy was quite simply one of the best, most brilliant human beings on the planet. That was, perhaps, only in her biased view. Yet clearly his workplace shared this opinion to some extent because they had offered him the position.  
“They’re flying me out next Thursday,” The words tumbled from his mouth as if they would hurt less if said quickly; like ripping a Band-Aid from a child’s arm. But nothing on this earth, apart from general anaesthesia, could lessen the sting of hearing that the man she loved- yes, she loved him- would be leaving her in under a week.  
She wanted to be angry that he hadn’t told her sooner. She wanted to scream. She wanted to plead with him until he agreed to stay. But all she could do was ask the ultimate question, the one that that there was only really a single possible answer to, “What does this mean for us, Bell?”  
“Princ… Clarke” Conflict flitted across his face, the pain palpable in his voice “I wish there was another way. I love you so much, you know I do, but I can’t make you wait for me.”  
“You can. Bell, I’d wait forever for you,” She was coming incredibly close to breaking her promise to herself not to cry. But she couldn’t do that to him. She wouldn’t.  
“You would, I know that,” He closed his eyes, unable to even look at her, “But you deserve someone who can actually be there, someone who can hold you in their arms the way that you deserve to be held. Someone who can worship their princess.”  
And then they were both crying, not caring that they were in public. Clarke could only think about how horrified her mother would have been if she had seen them ‘creating a scene’ like this, which was ridiculous given the circumstances- but a brain in shock is not a rational one.  
The rest of the meal continued that way, a fog of tears and watery false- smiles, both of them too numb to eat much. The restaurant began to feel uncomfortably hot and she was relieved to spill out into the cool night air, his arm around her shoulder as she clutched him like a safety blanket.  
“Will you make me mac n’ cheese one more time before you go?” She asked, smiling a little in spite of herself as she tried to break the silence.  
He nodded, joining her in the half-smile, “I knew you were only with me for the food.”


	3. Chapter 3

That is how she came to be sobbing on her best friend’s sofa on a rainy Thursday evening. Raven had tried all the traditional post-breakup tricks, but in truth, none of them seemed appropriate to Clarke’s situation. “I don’t understand either,” She repeated for what may have been the seventh time that night, and it was true- she was almost as shell shocked as Clarke herself.

One moment they had seemed to be the perfect couple, the ideal that everyone within their small friendship group held themselves to, and the next she had found herself the recipient of a tearful phone call. From this she had just about been able to decipher, through Clarke’s sobs, that Bellamy was leaving the entire country, his sister, his friends, and of course his beloved girlfriend, behind, all for some job. To Raven, this sounded entirely ludicrous, but she had been forced to rein in her anger and incredulity in order to avoid incurring a level of wrath which was entirely disproportionate to her friend’s small frame.

“I better go,” Clarke’s voice was a little shaky as she got to her feet, dabbing at her blotchy face with the sleeve of her jacket, “I’ve got a shift first thing tomorrow.”

“Come on Clarke, you can’t go to the hospital in this state,” Raven implored, her tone practical, “Just tell them you’re ill or something, it’s practically the truth.”

“I wish I could, but I can’t throw away my future medical career just because…” She trailed off, straightening up slightly and making her way towards the door, “I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.”

Now _this_ was the Clarke that Raven knew, painfully stubborn and brutally determined. “Come here,” Raven pulled the blonde into a hug before she would allow her to leave, “Phone me if you need me, although preferably not between 7.30-10pm tomorrow.”

“Do you have a date?” Clarke grinned weakly.

“Yeah,” Raven flushed, looking somewhat embarrassed, “I’m seeing that guy, Wick, again.”

 “Good luck,” Clarke raised her eyebrows conspiratorially.

“Thanks,” Raven smiled, “Now, look after yourself. I think we need a girls’ night soon, that’s if you’re ever free.”

“The perils of being friends with a junior doctor,” Clarke quipped, trying not to think about the fact that she was going to have quite a lot more free time on her hands without Bellamy around. She could still feel where his lips had pressed to her forehead, where his fingertips had pressed into her arms during their final hug before he left to board the plane, and although there was no physical reason for it to do so, it hurt like hell.


	4. Chapter 4

It would continue to hurt like hell for the many weeks that followed. In truth, it was only about three, but if time flies when you’re having fun, it moves at a snails’ pace when you spend practically every moment only able to think about one person.  
She would wake first thing in the morning with his name on her lips, searching for his warmth in the bed beside her, and she would fall asleep late at night only to find herself dreaming of him. Sometimes, when she was with Raven, Octavia, or any one of her friends, she would have fleeting hours of forgetfulness, which were certainly welcome. But then she would see a little fragment of him, whether it be finding one of his t-shirts under her bed, or simply scrolling past his number in his mobile, and then the pain would return. It reminded her of losing Wells, it was a kind of grief; even if Bellamy had not been her best friend who died in a car crash, the emotions it evoked were close enough to dredge up old memories. Clarke knew it would get better with time, but she wished that it didn’t have to.   
“Still moping around?” One of the hospital porters- who she strongly disliked- took a seat beside her in the staffroom.   
Attempting to keep her voice low, Clarke muttered, “Piss off Murphy”.   
“I’ll take that as a yes then,” He smiled, but there was something almost predatory about it. She found him thoroughly creepy, to be honest.  
“What do you want?” She bristled, she was really not in the mood for this.  
Even Murphy knew it was best to cut to the chase where Clarke was concerned, “You know, Lexa’s still single.”   
“And I’m still not interested,” She replied bluntly, “She had her chance and she blew it when she chose that nurse- Katherine was it? - over me. I can’t believe she’s using you to do her dirty work.”  
“I’ll pass on the charming message,” Murphy conceded with a glare, “It’s been a pleasure talking to you, as always. But you know, you’re going to have to move on sometime.”   
She simply repeated her earlier words with more emphasis “Piss off!” And to his credit, he did.   
Perhaps she had been a bit unfair, she mused. To tell the truth, she did not want to listen to Murphy both because her feelings about Lexa were certainly not as resolved as she liked to pretend, and secondly because a small part of her knew that he was, to some extent, right. But the larger part was still in love with Bellamy Blake.


	5. Chapter 5

Clarke Griffin was not in the habit of answering her mobile at 4 am, but it was a sticky June night and sleep came to her fitfully and in short bursts. Her first thought, as she groped around her bedside table for it in the darkness, was that the call was coming from an inebriated Raven requiring urgent rescue from a random guy’s house- which was not an irregular occurrence. But Raven was in a relationship now, or at least the closest to one that she had been since the Finn incident.  
When she saw his name flashing up on her screen, for some barely explicable reason, her finger hovered over the decline button. ‘It would be that simple,’ she thought, ‘to cut him out of my life forever’. However, her intrigue as to the purpose of his call overruled her growing resentment, and she pressed accept.  
There was an unfamiliar coldness to her tone as she formed his name for the first time in nearly a month, “Bellamy?”   
“Clarke, thank fuck,” His greeting was muffled and uneven, his words slurring together slightly.  
“Are you drunk?” She asked incredulously, irritation rising in her.   
“Not as much as I’d like to be,” Came the response.  
Clarke cut straight to the point, “I don’t mean to be rude, but why the hell are you ringing me at 4 am?”   
“Octavia’s not picking up and I don’t know what to do… I didn’t know who to ring… I can’t do this anymore…”   
The realisation that the thickness in his voice was more likely to be coming from distress than insobriety settled on Clarke’s chest like a lead weight, and she softened significantly, “What’s the matter?” She gently inquired, adopting the manner which she would with one of her patients.  
“This isn’t a premier internship, this is slave labour, it seems like I’ve barely been out of the office since I got here and I’m so tired,” His voice was the same small cry as it had been on that awful day when he’d told her that he was leaving, but there was also anger there too- which was audibly directed towards himself, “I’m so fucking tired Clarke. I miss O, and I- I miss you. I just want to come home, but I won’t have a job and I won’t have anywhere to live, and I don’t know what to do.”  
The raw honesty of his words made them hard to listen to; Clarke did not doubt the gravity of the situation for even a fraction of a second- he wasn’t the type of person to be open about his feelings and he must have been agonising over this for days. “Oh, Bell…” She murmured, desperately trying to think of a solution.  
“I’ve fucked up so badly. I got dazzled by the city lights and the prospect of this big glamorous career, but it was a lie, and now I’ve lost everything,” Bellamy continued, desperation pouring from his every word.  
She climbed out of bed and begun to take control of the situation, “Let’s figure this out. Do you have enough money for the flight back?”  
“Just,” He muttered, “But it’s not that simple.”  
“Yes it is,” She replied simply, “You tell them to shove the job up their asses, and you get on the first plane back- back here.” She cringed at the way the words ‘back to me’ had almost slipped from her mouth without thought. They weren’t even together any more, and he’d left her so callously. This was just the standard ‘Clarke Griffin Friend Rescue Service’. Totally platonic. Right?  
“But…” Bellamy protested.  
Firmly, she cut him off, “No buts. We’ll sort everything else out when you get here. Ring me if you need picking up from the airport, ok?”  
“Ok,” He sighed deeply, “Thanks, Princess.”


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke tried to think purely platonic thoughts as she stood in the airport lounge, eyes searching frantically for that familiar face. However, her body was having an entirely different response to the prospect of seeing him again: her heart was pounding, her cheeks were flushed, and her palms prickled uncomfortably. It had taken Bellamy a few days to be able to get away, and in that time, her anticipation of their reunion had grown.   
It took her a few seconds to recognize him; he looked so different. Those eyes that had sparkled with life were now dull and ringed with dark circles, his face was gaunt, and his lips formed a thin line. He placed her instantly, a just a glint of that old vivaciousness returning to his eyes as he made his way towards her. Even his gait had changed; although he retained the majority of that confident swagger, his shoulders were hunched forwards just slightly, almost as if he were continually apologising for his presence.   
Clarke wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him, hug him, slap him, or some bizarre combination of the three, so she settled on a reserved, “Hi,” unable to meet his gaze.  
“Hey,” He returned, looking just as awkward as she felt.   
“How was your flight?” Clarke asked after a long silence, beginning to make her way back towards the carpark. The formality felt wrong, she was so used to being comfortable around him.  
“It’s safe to say that I don’t have designs on a career as a pilot,” He responded, flashing her an uncomfortable smile.  
“What, the great Bellamy Blake is afraid of flying?” It was quite disconcerting, how easily they were falling back into old patterns, almost as if despite the fact that their heads had decided to split, their hearts had never been apart.  
“Shh, someone might hear you!”   
His voice was doing things to her. In fact, his presence alone was making her feel weak at the knees- if that were an actual thing and not just a weird expression straight from historical fiction. It was quite a relief when they arrived at the car, to be frank. She opened the trunk and he lifted his suitcase inside, before getting into the passenger seat.  
“Where am I dropping you off?” Clarke queried, praying that he had a reasonable answer for her.  
He didn’t. “I’m pretty sure Jasper and Monty offered to have me on her sofa for a few nights but…”  
“That’s miles away,” She sighed, as she pulled out onto the highway “Any better suggestions?”  
“I’m all out…” It was quite jarring how lost he suddenly looked, and Clarke was forced to concede.  
“You know, I’ve heard from reliable sources that my sofa’s quite comfortable,” It was going to be awkward, but they were both reasonably mature adults.  
“Would those reliable sources have included Octavia, perhaps quite recently?” Bellamy sounded intrigued, and Clarke realised that he knew his sister even better than she had ever dreamed of. She knew that Octavia hadn’t told him about the incident, so he must have inferred it from the brief phone calls.   
“Possibly. But I’m saying nothing,”   
“Did she get chucked out of student housing again?” He groaned, “I was gone under a month!”  
“As I said, my lips are sealed. But had she been involved in this purely hypothetical scenario, your sister would have made a grovelling apology to the Dean, and would have been given another final chance,” She raised her eyebrows.  
“What did she do this time?” He inquired, “Hypothetically speaking of course.”  
“Had there been another incident, I wouldn’t have asked too many questions,” Clarke gave a small smile, “But I’m pretty sure it would have been an action of protest regarding the treatment of illegal immigrants or something.”   
“Only Octavia,” Bellamy smiled indulgently, even as he rolled his eyes. It was one of those moments that made her imagine him as being an amazing dad. So now she was not only conflicted between wanting to slap him and wanting to pull over and rip his clothes off… she also wanted him to father her children (not that the idea hadn’t occurred to her before this whole mess). The whole ‘platonic thoughts’ thing was going great.


	7. Chapter 7

It was almost a full two days before the inevitable row occurred. Two days during which their relationship hovered somewhere in the bizarre zone between being strangers and lovers. But even when their lips paused just inches from each other, when she absentmindedly snuggled into him while they were watching television, and while they continued their usual light-hearted repartee, there was an undeniable tension in the air, and as time passed, the powder keg grew increasingly unstable. It only took an emptied milk carton to cause the explosion.   
Clarke dragged herself out of bed, shuffling down the hallway with half-closed eyes. The previous day’s long shift had left her in a practically zombie like state, but she had agreed to meet Raven for brunch at eleven, so wasn’t even able to indulge herself in a lie-in. Hoping to revive herself with some caffeine, she filled the kettle and blindly grabbed a mug from the draining board, before opening the fridge to look for the milk. Only there wasn’t any.   
“Bellamy, where’s the milk?” She called, a note of warning already creeping into her voice.  
“Oh, I finished it last night,” He glanced up from his reading position on the sofa, “Sorry.”  
“Would it have killed you to walk the five minutes to the corner shop to get some?” Clarke asked pointedly, “You know, it would be common courtesy, seeing as this is my flat.”  
“I was planning to go when I got up, but then I got distracted by…” He glanced at the title of his book, “A Clash of Kings.”  
“Get off your arse and go and get some milk,” Clarke growled, setting her mug down very slowly and deliberately, and walking through to the living room.  
“It’s just milk, I’m sure it can wait five minutes,” Bellamy grinned, “I’ll go when I’ve finished this chapter. Or, you know, you could go.”  
“No, you’ll go now,” She folded her arms, “I worked a twelve-hour shift yesterday. You’ve been sat around doing fuck-all, because… oh wait, you don’t have a job!”  
His face hardened, “You make that sound like it’s my fault.”  
“Isn’t it?” She raised one eyebrow, a clear signal that Hurricane Clarke was about to take place.  
“I was trying to do something good, to take an opportunity to give O a better life,” He said lowly, “It’s not my fault that I was practically exploited. And I’d like to see you find a job in two days!”  
She laughed coldly, “You were planning to give your sister a better life by flinging money at her, with the occasional phone-call thrown in if she’s very lucky! That almost sounds like my mother, just without the blatant manipulation.”  
“Don’t you dare…” Bellamy set the book down and got to his feet, “What the hell is this about?”  
“Maybe the fact that you left me for some fucking job, without a second thought. Was I really worth that little to you?” Both the pitch, and volume of her voice were rising, and she was aware that it was entirely irrational for this to stem from milk, but she was far beyond caring.  
Bellamy reeled, as if from an unexpected blow, “I was wrong. Ok, I was in the wrong! I made a mistake. I feel like shit about it. Are you planning to punish me about it forever?”  
“I…” Clarke just glared at him.  
“And you really get a kick out of lording it over me, don’t you? You love having me in your flat, in your debt, don’t you? So you can feel like you’re doing a good deed!” He spat, beginning to gather up his things.  
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” She practically shrieked.  
“I’m getting out of your way, so you can enjoy your stellar medical career, which, by the way, I never complained when you stood me up multiple times for, and your comfortable upper-middle-class existence.” He growled, “Have a nice life, Clarke.”  
She practically lunged for him, taking a grip on his wrist and pulling him towards her, “You can’t leave me again,” It was intended to be a shout, but it left her mouth as the quietest, most desperate plea. Silence hung in the air for a few seconds, while she waited for his rebuttal; the seemingly inescapable ‘watch me’, but it never came.  
“I know,” He whispered hoarsely, and then her lips met his, hands knotted in each other’s hair, and he didn’t push her away.


	8. Chapter 8

In the end, Clarke never made it to brunch. In fact, they lay tangled in each other’s arms for hours, no words necessary. Eventually, she was forced to move by the practically incessant ringing of her phone, “I’m fairly sure that Raven thinks I’m dead,” She apologised as she picked his shirt up off the floor and slipped it on with a teasing grin in his direction.

She strode across her bedroom to extract her phone from her jeans, laughing as she saw over thirty missed calls. “She definitely thinks I’m dead,” She commented as she tapped out a quick text to apologise for standing her friend up, as well as to assure her that this wasn’t the case.

When she turned around, Bellamy wasn’t there, although she could hear him moving around in the kitchen. “What are you doing in there?” She called as she padded along the corridor, pulling some underwear on in the process. As it turned out, he was rifling through the cupboards.

“If you’d be so kind as to give me my shirt back, I’m going to the shop. To get some milk,” He smirked before continuing, “And some flour. And some eggs. And some sugar. What have you actually been eating?”

“Anything that requires virtually no cooking skill,” She admitted, shamefaced, “And no, you’re not getting your shirt back.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you have others,” She teased, “Or you could just go without.”

“Fine! But if I come back with some sort of harem, you’ve only got yourself to blame,” He pressed a kiss to her temple before he left, entirely shirtless “The things I do for you!” He chuckled.

When he returned, he placed the carrier bags down on the kitchen counter and called Clarke over from the television.

“Where’s the harem?” She laughed, “Did every woman in a mile radius _not_ fling themselves at you?”

“I fought them off,” Bellamy responded, unpacking the ingredients.

Clarke tilted her head slightly, “Are you making pancakes?”

“No, _you_ are,” He snickered at the confused expression on her face, “Don’t worry, I’ll provide the appropriate supervision.”

“You are aware that I am already capable of making pancakes?” Clarke chose that exact moment to drop the sieve, “Mostly.”

“Your sieving technique is appalling,” He noted, completely straight faced. “Here.”

He pressed himself to her, holding her wrists from behind and demonstrating the customary way of sieving.

“I feel like this is probably _in_ appropriate supervision,” She giggled, turning to briefly brush her lips against his jaw.

“You’ve got to learn somehow.”

She sighed as she inadvertently tipped the bowl over, sending flour everywhere “Does it have to be right now?”

“No,” Bellamy admitted, spinning her around and pulling her flush against him, “It’s not like either of us are going anywhere.”


End file.
